Midnight descended upon Elyaran like a shroud woven from smoke and iron.
Outside the western defenses, Azhred was leading his three hundred northern horsemen through the narrow passages of the ridge, their hooves wrapped in wet felt. Azhred’s silver aura hummed with a razor-thin intensity, his hand locked around the hilt of his sword. He watched the dark silhouette of the Western Gate Tower, waiting for the signal.
Suddenly, a brilliant green fire shot into the sky above the watchtower—it was Tair’s signal.
“FORWARD!” Azhred roared in a harsh whisper, his silver light erupting at full force as he drew his sword.
The cavalry thundered down the ridge toward the gate. But as they approached the outer moat, iron torches ignited all along the western walls. Hundreds of Imperial crossbowmen rose behind the battlements; their crossbows drawn, iron-clad catapults standing beside them.
Inspector Varok’s trap was set. Commander Kuçar’s betrayal had delivered the Drazhan vanguard directly into the killing zone.
“FIRE!” the Imperial commander roared from the battlements.
A blinding rain of black iron bolts fell. Azhred spun his sword, his silver energy deflecting a dozen bolts in a shower of sparks, but the horses around him screamed and collapsed into the mud.
“They knew we were coming!” a Drazhan captain shouted, panic rising in his voice. “Fall back to the pass!”
“NO!” Azhred roared, his amber eyes burning with gold and silver light. “Either we break the gate, or we die upon these stones!”
Within the lower courtyard of the gate tower, however, a different kind of chaos was unfolding.
A deafening roar rose from the slums; thousands of starving refugees, smiths, and workers flooded into the grain warehouse square carrying iron pickaxes, torches, and butcher’s cleavers. Eldren’s men had set fire to the pitch-coated timber stores near the barracks, filling the courtyard with suffocating black smoke and blinding orange flames.
“BREAD OR BLOOD!” the crowd shouted, surging toward the guard posts.
The Imperial guards attempted to lower the massive iron portcullis to seal the outer gate and trap the rioters inside. Two soldiers threw their entire weight against the main winch mechanism.
CLANG-CRACK!
The iron pin Tair had wedged into the brake drum shattered the teeth of the main gear. The heavy winch spun out of control, its iron chains snapping loose like whips and smashing two guards against the stone wall instantly. The massive portcullis dropped three feet, jammed crookedly in its grooves, and locked completely.
The gate remained open.
Commander Kuçar, standing in the shadows beneath the winch platform, watched the jammed gate in horror. Realizing that his betrayal had been shattered, he drew a concealed dagger.
A cold, frayed sound echoed through the smoke behind him.
Kuçar raised the dagger and turned. Tair emerged through the swirling ash. His unresponsive right arm hung beneath his wool cloak, his right eye was covered by a black leather band, and his face was deathly pale, streaked with soot and dark blood. He looked like an executioner rising from hell.
“T-Tair?!” Kuçar gasped, taking a fearful step backward. “You... you were supposed to be in the sewers!”
“Varok... was waiting for three hundred horsemen, Kuçar,” Tair whispered, his voice a dry, hoarse growl that cut through the roar of the fire. “Your message... told him three thousand were coming. To reinforce this wall... he pulled three garrison regiments... from the eastern gate...”
Kuçar’s eyes widened in horror. “You... you changed my letter?!”
“Azhred... is the anvil,” Tair growled softly, taking an agonizing step as his leg brace bit into the stone floor. “The rebel crowd... is the hammer. And you, Kuçar... were the iron holding them together.”
Kuçar clenched his teeth in desperation and lunged at Tair with his dagger. “Bastard dog!”
Tair did not dodge. He did not draw a weapon. He shifted his weight onto his sound left leg and drove the metal brace directly into Kuçar’s knee.
Something split with a sharp report.
Kuçar screamed as his kneecap shattered and he collapsed onto his sound side. Before he could strike again, Tair’s left hand shot forward like a desert viper; he seized Kuçar by the throat and slammed his head hard against the stone gear housing behind him.
Tair did not break his neck. He leaned down, his single black eye inches from Kuçar’s terrified, bloodshot eyes.
“You do not... deserve a clean death, traitor,” Tair whispered, his breath smelling of iron and bile.
Tair dragged Kuçar’s lifeless body by the collar and threw it through the arched passage—directly into the path of the enraged crowd attacking the grain warehouse gates. Recognizing the Drazhan officer who had collaborated with Varok’s inquisitors, the starving rioters swarmed over him with iron pickaxes and butcher’s cleavers. Kuçar’s screams instantly disappeared into the roar of the crowd.
Tair turned back toward the jammed iron portcullis. Through the bars, he saw Azhred’s silver aura tear through the final Imperial defensive line outside.
The first volley did not hit three thousand riders.
It hit empty darkness, scattered decoy cloaks, and thirty riderless horses driven toward the moat with bundles tied across their saddles.
Azhred had obeyed Tair's final instruction even though he had hated it.
Do not charge the green fire.
Charge the red answer.
When the tower flashed red, Azhred shifted the main column north along the drainage berm.
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The Imperial commander realized the mistake too late.
"LEFT WALL! TURN THE BALLISTAE!"
Heavy engines began rotating.
That was when the powder bridge failed.
Not explosively.
Embarrassingly.
The western demolition chamber coughed flame, threw a column of black smoke into the air, and dumped burning powder into the canal.
Imperial crews panicked.
Azhred saw the opening.
"NOW!"
Three hundred riders emerged from the darkness where Varok expected three thousand.
They struck the thin northern screen.
Inside the gatehouse, Tair heard the impact through stone.
He also heard Kuçar running.
The traitor had realized the numbers were wrong.
Tair followed.
His support brace made stealth impossible.
Scrape.
Scrape.
Scrape.
Kuçar turned at the lower passage.
"You."
Tair stopped.
The commander drew his saber.
"You changed the message."
A nod.
"You knew."
Another.
Kuçar's face twisted. "Then why let me send it?"
Tair studied the ceiling as another impact shook dust loose.
"...Because Varok... trusted you."
Kuçar understood.
His betrayal had become the delivery system.
Rage replaced fear.
He charged.
Tair could not duel him.
The old Tair might have calculated blade angles, used the wall, sacrificed another joint.
This Tair had learned something simpler.
He stepped backward through the narrow arch.
Kuçar followed.
Tair pulled a hanging chain.
The tannery's suspended hide rack dropped between them.
Wet leather slapped across Kuçar's face and sword arm.
Tair drove his cane into the commander's knee.
Something split with a sharp report.
Kuçar fell.
Not defeated.
Delayed.
Tair dragged himself toward the portcullis controls.
Behind him Kuçar tore free, screaming.
The gate mechanism required two hands.
Tair had one.
He stared at the twin levers.
Mechanical Solution: ASTRA
SYSTEM CALCULATION: Mechanical solution available
EXECUTION: Use body weight as secondary actuator
PROJECTED SHOULDER DAMAGE: Severe